EnShanté

Something I wrote a couple of months ago but wasn’t ready to post…

Death is so cruel. Not just for taking the people that we care about away from us but, when the death is unexpected, for taking them so quickly that it can make you question whether or not they even existed. I know my brother existed; I remember when he was born. I can see him in pictures, I have a ton of memories of us growing up, and I can still feel my love for him. But every time I think of him, my mind digs through an archive of memories to confirm that his death really happened. To confirm that he really happened. Sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking that maybe I made him — or, at times, his death — up.

The other day, for example, one of my coworkers asked me about him and how I was doing (I think my supervisor told her) and as I constructed my reply, I kept looking up and flicking through memories of the past two months.Yep, that happened. I went to the funeral and I wrote his eulogy. Yea, he died. I needed to fact check myself to make sure that I hadn’t made his death up. Does that make sense? Has anyone else experienced that? Let me know.